Speaking Freely

I shouldn't confess this, because many of my acquaintances are the sort of people who finish their taxes by Groundhog Day, but I invariably find myself making the long trek down to the main post office on Tax Day to drop our return or, in this case, extension off after all the other post offices are closed. Maybe if we ever had the prospect of a meaningful refund I would send it off sooner. But since we usually owe a little, there's not much incentive to rush. Besides, there's something moving about the experience of queuing up with all those other Americans who don't have the income or inclination to have a professional do their taxes for them. As zokah wrote yesterday, in the entry with her amazing photo showing a worm's-eye view of a BART platform, "There were postal employees waiting in front waving people over to the curb and collecting tax envelopes from rolled down car windows. Scenes like at the post office (poll stations on election evenings also) make me feel all community-like."

I feel that sense of community when I go pay the water bill in person, but it's especially pronounced on Tax Day. To be honest, seeing that long line of taillights from the Kino Parkway overpass warms my heart. The postal employees are always extremely friendly. And even the police presence -- guarding the returns, I imagine -- is tolerable. Last night was particularly interesting. As I was rolling towards the drop-off point, listening to Kraftwerk's "The Model," I saw one of those temporary caution signs in the center lane, pinned down with a few sandbags. From a distance, it seemed to be an example of Situationist détournement, but I figured my eyes were deceiving me. "Maybe I really do need glasses finally," I thought. But as I came closer to the sign, I realized that the détournement was real. The orange sign with black lettering that usually warns of construction hazards instead sported the words, "Free Speech." I'm not sure what the person who put it there meant for the sign to say, but whatever her or his intentions, it resonated far beyond them. I spent a long time thinking about what it could mean. And that's why I was doubly happy to be mailing off my taxes at 11:00pm last night.

The Day I Was Brave

The San Francisco Chronicle's coverage of today's festivities celebrating the 100th anniversary of the great San Francisco earthquake got me thinking again about the much smaller Big One that I experienced right before meeting Kim. And then I saw another story on the paper's home page about the work being done to reopen Devil's Slide, which reminded me of the long day trip that she and I took in April, 1990 in which we visited Santa Cruz for the first time since the Loma Prieta quake had destroyed most of its downtown shopping district. On the way down, we stopped at Devil's Slide and hiked all the way to the end of the rocky head you see in this photo:

In order to do that, you have to make your way up an extremely narrow path visible as the diagonal line on the side of this miniature peninsula. In the photo, it's hard to believe that human beings could traverse this path safely, since the drop off below it is practically sheer. In real life, it's even harder to believe. But, despite my fear of heights and generally cautious attitude towards life-threatening situations, I blithely strode up the path to the head's piney crown. There, Kim and I lingered for awhile, waiting patiently for a few moments of peace in that surprisingly busy spot. At one point, a man was swinging what I presumed to be his toddler-age son out over the cliff's edge in what was either a display of devil-may-care arrogance or an attempt to lessen the size of his brood by means of an "accident." Eventually, realizing that we were lucky to have managed one small window of silence, we headed back down the path. Kim was actually more scared than I was. I can't believe that the person who took two hours to climb ten feet up in a tree in Cub Scouts was actually able to give encouragement to someone else in a fear-of-falling scenario. But I did. Love makes people do the most improbable things.